From the Ashes
by talknerdy2meh
Summary: It started off as the same old song and dance - a normal demon, the usual threats, all taken care of. Sam and Dean drive off, leaving their worries of the demon in the ruined meatsuit behind the best they can. But simply forgetting is not enough - what happens next when a force begins to rise, hell-bent on carrying out her plan of revenge?
1. Chapter 1

_Hello everyone! This fic was inspired from some particular events and conversations that occurred between my friends and I while on vacation, so most of this is based around that. This will be a relatively short story, with only one more chapter to post after this._

 _Yes, before you ask, I have had to repost this a couple of times, as my connection with this website was being fickle. Sorry if I annoyed some of you, I had no intentions of doing so._

 _Special thanks to my awesome editor JustMePeyt, and to my favorite demon MacKenzie. This one is for you._

 **Disclaimer:** _I do not own Supernatural. All OCs belong to me but that's about it._

 _Enjoy!_

* * *

A small road that had laid abandoned for hours was shook up suddenly when an old, black car silently revved past. It was a little after 3am and the night was calm, but within the confines of the vehicle, two men sat uneasily.

"Is Cas sure that he heard the message correctly?" asked the man sitting in the passenger seat, who was rifling through coordinates and map directions on his phone. "I mean, I know this is urgent, but we could be walking straight into a trap."

"Set by who?" replied the driver before finishing the last sip of his coffee. "Sam, I don't think anyone would lie about _Metatron_ over the freaking angel radio. The entirety of Heaven would be on the sap within minutes."

"I understand that, Dean. But it all just seems a little too rushed."

"What, do you expect Metatron to send out an invitation to us beforehand? Of course it's gonna be a bit of a surprise."

A road sign flashed ahead on the side of the road, pointing to an exit that led off towards

Charleston. Dean angled the steering wheel and veered onto the branching road, entering another freeway that was still void of traffic.

"I know, it's just..." Sam thought for a moment. "I wish we could've stayed in DC to finish the job. It doesn't feel right to just leave a body behind that could be traced back to us."

"It don't sit too well with me either, Sammy, but Metatron comes first. We wiped all the evidence, and the cops will know what to do with the body. I know you're still a bit shaken up from her getting the jump on you back at the hotel, but now the girl will be at peace."

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam replied, absentmindedly rubbing the marks on his wrists where ropes had dug in only hours before. Glancing over, he realized that his brother still had the same disheveled hair from earlier, the exact look he had when he exited the bathroom back at their hotel to find Sam tied to a chair with a demon standing over his shoulder. Sam shook his head, trying to push those thoughts away. He hated the idea of how easily the demon had gotten ahold of him.

There was silence for a while, both the boys content with doing their separate jobs. As the Impala ate up the miles, Dean couldn't help but mentally agree with Sam's worries. He too had wanted to burn the demon's meatsuit back in DC, but no sooner had the light faded from the dead girl's body before Cas received a signal across angel radio. It was about Metatron, and it needed to be attended to quickly. Cas had disappeared, and 10 minutes after he and Sam were already on the road. They had been driving for a good five hours heading due west, following the coordinates the angel had sent directly to Sam's phone. It didn't leave them with any extra time to dispose of the abandoned body.

But in reality, there really was nothing to worry about. The demon, whoever she was, had lit up like the Fourth of July once Cas slit her throat with the angel blade, so Dean was confident that she wouldn't be returning. He used the same sort of weapon that was capable of killing archangels; surely a mere demon like her wouldn't stand a chance against it!

Those thoughts satisfied Dean, leading him to conclude that there was no way this demon chick would be any more of a threat to Sam or anyone else. As his doubts melted, he turned on the radio and started flipping through the stations, hoping to find one that played any classic rock.

Sam, however, didn't feel quite as comfortable with the situation. He couldn't let those thoughts go like Dean did, and he wished that he could've made sure that the poor girl had been properly laid to rest. The demon had to be dead. There wasn't any possible way she could've survived that kind of injury inflicted by the blade. But still, her words echoed at the back of her mind, the ones she had whispered in his ear when she had rendered him defenseless. Ones of torture and pain, of relentlessness, and horrible power. It just didn't sit well with him as a whole.

It was like an itch at the very core of his mind, and he only hoped with time it would come to fade.

 _S*P*N*S*P*N*S*P*N_

It's not that being sent back to her desired realm was such a bad thing.

The worst thing of all was the pain. Waking up in a musty cell with such an ache in her throat, the daily rounds of "rehabilitation", compiled with the agonizing sores that acted as a second skin. But, her rank and level of power alone kept the worst of everything away. Mostly she just sat in the corner of her cell, listening to the cacophony of tortured screams all around her.

With time, these anguished cries nurtured her desire for revenge. That cursed angel blade didn't kill her; not entirely. The cut across her neck was too shallow to destroy her completely, but it had weakened her enough that she was forced back into this hellish therapy session to slowly build her strength back up.

Idiots, those men were. To think they could finish her with such a weak cut when her powers succeeded theirs a thousandfold! But she had to wait. She knew she was lucky to be alive, but that didn't stop her from dreaming up approximately one million different ways to make those Winchesters and their precious angel die a most painful and excruciating death.

It made her own sentence a lot more bearable.

She wasn't quite sure how long she'd sat rotting in this cell in the depths of Hades itself. She lost track after 25 years or so, eventually giving up on even trying. She could stay here for hundreds of years, harnessing her powers, and the men she now hated most would still be up there, hunting creatures like her in their pretty-boy muscle car. It brought a wicked smile to the demon's face to think about etching her threats of violence into the flawless paint job on the side of that stupid vehicle.

But before any of that could really go into effect, she had to get out of here. Technically, because she had already escaped the confines of the pit before, she was doomed to spend eternity in this blasted cell. The demon thought likewise, patiently allowing her powers to grow and expand as the years of punishment filed away.

It had probably been close to about 50 or 60 years when she felt a spark of electricity flood her system. Her lips twitched up, and she felt a wolfish grin overtake her features.

Her powers had returned, and they were better than they ever had been before.

To test the limits of her new abilities, the demon walked to the edge of her cell, where iron bars engraved with Enochian kept her from escaping. She looked down the hall of similar chambers filled with prisoners, and selected one inmate with a purpose. The arrogant man, who had been in the dungeon when she returned from up above, had openly mocked her a couple dozen years before.

Yes, this is the first victim she would make suffer.

Without a warning, the short, balding man was overcome with seizures, twitching violently as he choked on his newly-asthmatic lungs. He twisted and churned, but no one gave him a second thought; this was Hell, and in Hell, you were tortured. No one cares where you end up, as long as they don't follow along immediately after. So as this man struggled and gasped, everyone within earshot breathed a sigh of minor relief. _Better him than me_ , every one of them told themselves.

The man's face started turning a sickly bluish purple, and he started bleeding heavily out of his nose and mouth. He was nearly ripping his hair out in desperation to breathe again, and it pleased the demon sitting in the cell nearby to the very core.

She could almost see it: that same dark tint taking over Sammy's face as he slowly asphyxiated. The crimson blood that would run down Dean's body and pool at his feet. The helpless and horrified look in Castiel's eyes as his whole life force was drained out of him.

The demon started giggling. She couldn't help it; her plan was coming together so perfectly. Soon she'd have all of her enemies kneeling before her, just begging for the swift motion that would end their miserable lives. It was such a delicious thought that she let the pathetic man go just so he could live to see her hierarchy of fear.

But first things first, she had to get out of this rotting hellhole.

When the stronger willed of those being kept here weren't being punished, sometimes they talked. They talked of their deaths, their sentences, who they were before the darkness in humanity took over their minds, all that crappy stuff. But every so often, the prisoners would speak of cracks in the system; hatches hidden throughout the underground world that would lead up to fresh, sweet air and grassy fields. Rumors of these hidden passages floated around the inmates, twisting and morphing like their haunted souls. Some would pass this off as a stupid bedtime story and go on with their lives in agony, while others would feed off the hope of someday getting out of the smoke and fire.

60 years was a long time to sort through rumors and riddles and facts. The demon had no doubts about how to get out, but that wasn't her problem. The real reason she waited was because she'd need a new host.

She was vain, and only the weak demons would enter the Earth as vapor to later enter a body. No, that's not how she did it. The most powerful of her kind would always have a meatsuit when setting foot on Earth. So she reached out from the depths of Hell and thrust her conscience into the mortal world above, wincing back in her cell below from the intensity of the sun. After the initial shock she set to work, scouring hospitals, graveyards, and morgues until finally, only twenty-some miles from the heart of DC, she found a familiar, pale face.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** It's entirely up to you guys if I should post the next and final chapter, so be sure to leave a comment if you particularly like/dislike this so far. _

_Thanks again for reading. And if I don't see you next time, good morning, good evening, and good night!_

 _~Em_


	2. Chapter 2

_The second and last installment of this story. Enjoy!_

* * *

Doctor Jacob Lawrence had seen a lot of weird stuff in his extended career. As head mortician at the Alexandria County Hospital, he had seen many different cases and weird deaths come through the double doors to his office. But the strangest thing yet to enter his wing was the unidentified body locked in shelf 42.

The case itself had started out simple enough. A couple of months ago, back in early June, reports had been sent to his lab about a teenage girl found in an alley with her throat slit. According to the police, what sounded like a man called from an unknown number, claiming to have found the dead body. The police arrived to the scene, but the caller had vanished and his number found untraceable. There was no further evidence to be found anywhere, the case just seeming to pop out of nowhere with the girl in the alley. Seeing as there was nothing they could do, the body was delivered directly to the morgue for testing, hoping that some DNA trials could pinpoint the girl's identity. Immediately after her arrival, Dr. Lawrence had placed her remains on the tray in shelf 42 and locked it tight for the night.

The next morning, he couldn't open the compartment.

There had been times in the past where the body behind the door jammed it just perfectly so it wouldn't open, or Lawrence would grab the wrong key to the wrong shelf. But this time, after well over an hour of trying to force the door open, it still refused to budge.

Time passed, and no matter what was brought down on that small little slab of metal, it still refused to open.

Nothing worked. Everyone tried for weeks, knowing that the girl trapped inside deserved a proper funeral and send-off. Her family would still be searching for her, hopefully, and it was only fair to end their worrying, even if it was for the worse.

It didn't matter what wrath was bestowed upon the little compartment. Every sort of key was tried, but to no avail. Multiple people tried hacking the lock off entirely, but the metal it was made of seemed to have endurance of gods. The doctor even tried taking down the entire rack of compiled bodies, but with little success.

So the body was left, guilt and confusion growing in the pit of Lawrence's stomach with each day it couldn't be released.

Jacob Lawrence was not one to believe in the supernatural hoodoo everyone sucked up to. Ghosts were always left at the campfire and vampires in their crappy teenage chick-flicks, and that was that. But as the months wore on without any success in breaking through door 42, Lawrence was starting to wonder if maybe there was a bit of truth behind those bloodthirsty spirits and sinister demon stories he tried for so long to ignore.

Then he'd snap out of his reverie, and force himself to drop the childish thought process. He had little patience for fantasy, and reality was a bitch. It was something he knew all too well after many long years cooped up in a morgue.

So the metal slab entitled as 42 stood in the background for months, always catching the corner of Lawrence's vision and causing his mind to wander. Eventually the feeling of immense guilt settled down, but there was always a slight tinge of discomfort in the doctor whenever those two numbers flashed from the corner of the room.

At least, only for a while.

It was now late in September, over four and a half months since the poor girl's limp corpse was brought to the mortician in the west wing. That long the body had been cooped up in the impenetrable cell, and Lawrence could only guess what condition it would be in now, had he been able to get the door open.

Luckily, now he didn't have to.

He entered the morgue on a boggy Thursday, looking around at the familiar surroundings within the morgue. The operation table in the center of the space, the crisp and pristine counters and tools he frequently scrubbed down, the fifty-some shelf spaces used as storage for the cadavers, and-

 _And shelf 42, which was now hanging wide open._

With a gasp of shock and triumph, the doctor raced to the door that had eluded his entrance for so long. He pried it open as far as it would go, torn in two by the mess of emotions he was feeling. Half of him was so happy, knowing now he could carry out tests on the dead girl and find her missing identity. But the other half was sounding the warning bells, signaling that the whole situation was shifty and could lead to something horrible.

Lawrence ignored his pessimistic side and pulled on the gurney attached within the shelf, hoping that the body within would still be in tact enough for him to lead some tests.

As he pulled out the little cot tucked within the confines of the storage unit, all he could think about the sight before him was _oh man, I think I failed this test._

There was no decay, which was good. But it would've been better if there had actually been a body to look at.

The shelf was empty.

This lone shelf, which had been on lockdown for four whole months, was now gaping at him like a silent insult, almost beckoning the doctor to climb inside and see how empty it all was. There was nothing to be seen; no rotting smells, no disturbed equipment other than the retractable gurney... nothing.

It was like this whole fiasco had been a wild and crazy daydream.

Lawrence double checked the storage compartment. Then he unlocked every other rack on the shelf, just to make sure that he wasn't missing anything. Then he checked everywhere else - below the operating table, in cabinets full of procedural tools, even in his own office. There was nothing. The body was gone without the slightest of traces.

It was on that day that Dr. Jacob Lawrence signed up for his long-delayed retirement.

 _S*P*N*S*P*N*S*P*N_

The person hobbled along the streets with a strange, almost drunken look about them.

No one knew who they were, nor did they have the desire to go up and ask. It was just another body in the sea of humans inhabiting the city; someone had to know them from somewhere. The shadows were dense along the streets of downtown Arlington, so no one could get a good look at the figure walking along. It was there, like an apparition, and then it melted back into the line of darkness, never to be seen again.

They ambled along, having only one destination and only a certain time to get there. They had nothing to stop them, no empathy to toy with. They were only a shell, a broken reminder of what once resided. But the original was long gone now, and the old, shedded skin was needed for further use.

The sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows lengthened out into dusk. Stars blinked into view as it became harder to see clearly, but the lonely person wandering the streets was not afraid. The mere idea of fear was incomprehensible to their derelict mind.

They kept walking. The light in the sky completely faded as clouds obscured the moon, the glow from houses becoming fainter as the residences grew smaller and farther apart.

Within one of the last houses on the block, a teenage girl drew back the curtains in her dining room just in time to watch the figure sulk past.

"Hey, look at this!" She called behind her to the three other girls camping out in the living room. "It looks like the person outside is sleepwalking!"

And in that moment, the puppet show had an audience. The soloist maneuvering down the lane now had four young enthusiasts, laughing and giggling as the lone marionette shambled back into the shadows and into the countryside.

It was a good thing the light was bad and the girls were far away, or else they would've seen the dead look in the walker's eyes and the thin, crusty red line smiling wickedly across her throat.

Those girls moved on with their lives, never again wondering what that lonely person wandering the streets could possibly be up to. And that was good. They saved themselves from a horror story no one ever wanted to be a part of. But, unfortunately for the figure heading into the emptiness beyond the comfy neighborhoods, it was too late to turn back and run from the terrors ahead. Not like it would've had the capacity to flee anyways.

Cement beneath their feet turned into gravel as they stumbled into an abandoned road, long forgotten by the residents nearby and steered clear of by everyone who heard the stories. The rocky road that led up to the old cemetery, where unholy things once happened near the structure of the mausoleum located dead center of the plot.

Not like the person had heard the legends before this moment.

Footsteps echoed in the silence up to the overgrown patch of land, rendering a place on Earth that time forgot. The distant lights from the capital gleamed on the horizon, but yet not a sound was made except for the slim figure making their way to the center of the graveyard.

A dilapidated structure loomed out of the darkness, covered in thick moss and vines growing like greasy hair. The walls and windows were still in decent condition, but the door barring entrance through the front was nearly pristine. The wood it was carved from was sturdy and strong, without a hint of wearing down. That would be surprising, considering the age of the building itself. And, the lame shadow noticed without comprehending, as the moon peeked through a cloud for its 15 seconds of fame, a shiny, silver pentagram seemed to act as a beacon, drawing in the girl as she stepped closer.

Then she stopped, staring straight ahead at the door in front of her. The very Earth beneath her corpse seemed to tremble, and the star fixed onto the door looked to be growing brighter and brighter every moment her unseeing eyes gazed at them.

The girl stood prone, her invisible puppet master pausing to give orders as to what to do next.

So quiet the girl under orders muttered, that you would have to put your ear right up to her mouth to even tell that she was chanting an ancient incantation.

 _S*P*N*S*P*N*S*P*N_

All in all, everything could've gone a lot worse.

The escape from her cell went flawlessly, and the demon reveled in the torture she inflicted on anyone who tried to stop her. As long as she didn't grab the attention of Alastair or Crowley, she would be able to outmatch anyone in power. The Knights of Hell were all dead, something that had previously pissed her off until now. Now it just made her job of escaping several times easier.

The new powers were so deliciously frightening that most of the people barring her escape let her pass, knowing all she was capable of inflicting on them if they put up a fight.

As the demon fled through the fiery depths of Hell, she focused on forcing the Latin ritual through her meatsuit's mouth. The delivery of her old body from the morgue to the graveyard was a success, and now the demon could see a silvery light, like a five-point star showing her the way up.

The screams and cries from below faded away as she leaped through the center pentagon of the star, seeming to jump through an infinity of nothingness, but yet a second of everything. Then, she was out.

Stars gleamed like spotlights above, and the freshest air the demon had breathed in sixty years filled her abused lungs. Though in the form of the black smoke, she was still able to revel in human traits, taking in the scene until her inky eyes made contact with the fresh slab of meat standing only feet away.

The portal through the mausoleum snapped shut when the last of the demon's residue slipped by, forcing the shouts of agony from Hades below out of the mixture of sounds now up above. The clump of darkness flew around the perimeter of the cemetery, making sure there was no clue as to point out her arrival to others. Then, she forced the head back on her meatsuit and climbed into control.

The demon crawled down the ex-human's throat, meandering her way through the systems and networks trying to keep her out, even though the body had been dead for months. Finally, the black smoke took control of the brain, pulling the rest of her being within the confines of the human.

The demon made herself comfortable, soaking in the fact that she was out of the Pit forever and now resided within her original form. Flexing her fingers and bouncing her knees, the demon took a few tentative steps to gain the balance points of the meatsuit before heading off at a brisk pace.

The Hell Gate guarded within the old mausoleum grew smaller as the demon put it behind her in the distance, taking in the things she took for granted during her first tromp on Earth. How the wind whistled through the trees and grass, something so relieving after the stillness of below. The way the clouds molded together in different shades of darkness above her, and how the lights of the city just beyond her view seemed to shape and twist her path, beckoning her into familiar territory.

But now was not the time for homey comforts. The demon may have just escaped from the confines of hell, but it surely wasn't going to be a walk in the park from now on. Now, the demon was going to play war.

Except in this wave, she was better than she was before. She had the element of surprise, something none of her enemies would expect.

At the thought of her enemies, the demon felt her new skin bristle with goosebumps. She was walking on the very soil of Earth that those damned Winchesters plodded on every passing day. She was standing only miles away from the hotel where they staged their previous showdown, where she had trussed Sammy up like a pig for slaughter in hopes of attaining the weapon from them. If she could get ahold of it, then that would be one less advantage they would have against her.

She remembered the whole scene like it had happened an hour ago. Now, she was itching to pick up where they left off, knowing that the odds were now on her side. Even if they did have an angel under their command, what use would a foot soldier be against the head of an entire hellish mutiny? All three of the boys would be helpless, and she intended on giving them the most painful explanation as to why they never should've messed with her in the first place.

The demon would snap their bones, implode their arteries, and make it feel as though the weight of a thousand limp bodies was constantly crushing them, both physically and mentally. Their sleep would be plagued with gruesome nightmares, giving them no escape from the punishments she would deal. She could force them to listen to each other's screams as she slowly carved their sanity away. It was a glorious thought, but the demon knew that she had to start small.

She would have to stay out of Washington, but that was OK. She could track down petty crossroad demons and ask for directions, leading her right up to their front door. She could bet that the boys wouldn't expect her to knock on their door on a peaceful Tuesday evening.

The demon grinned. And with each step she took, the smile grew as thoughts and plans were hatched pertaining to these men's demise. She would make them pay, and they would suffer greatly.

The countryside she was standing in suddenly grew empty as the unholy entity apparated away, most likely to track down a victim to force directions out of. Previously having been disturbed, now the peace of the night returned, seemingly oblivious to the firestorm about to rage within three men and a very angry demon.

* * *

 _And that's the end._

 _I hope y'all enjoyed!_

 _(Self promotion corner) I'm in the process of writing a longer Supernatural trilogy as of now. I'm in the process of writing the third installment, and I hope to start posting within the next few months._

 _If you're interested, stay tuned. If not, oh well, have a fantastic day._

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _~Em_


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